Kate DiCamillo's Blog, page 38

Public Reading/Q&A/Book Signing

Public Reading/Q&A/Book Signing

I took this picture of a purple-blossomed tree because I wanted to show it to my...

I took this picture of a purple-blossomed tree because I wanted to show it to my mother.
Spring was her favorite season.
It is when I miss her most.
The longer I am in the world, the more convinced I am that we see things best when we see them with somebody else.
It is not enough, any more, to look.
I need to look with someone I love.

I received a letter this week was from an almost-nine year old who had just fini...

I received a letter this week was from an almost-nine year old who had just finished reading The Tale of Despereaux. Her name is Rachel and she says that she likes to "read with a snack and sink into the story."
Isn't that grand?
But here's my favorite line from the letter: "Some people call books things, but I call them magic."
Magic. Yep.
Me, too, Rachel. That's what I call them, too.

Because of Winn-Dixie is a story told in the first person and because of that I...

Because of Winn-Dixie is a story told in the first person and because of that I often get asked if I am India Opal Buloni. The answer, alas, is no. Opal, at ten years old, is kinder and wiser and more open than I ever was as a kid. But here is an unexpected benefit to telling a story: your characters teach you. The people you make up deepen you and change you.
Which brings me to Bink, a character who is short and loud and who likes to be fed by the people she loves. In other words, ...

From the Candlewick team: As many of you are aware, Facebook is changing over to...

From the Candlewick team: As many of you are aware, Facebook is changing over to the Timeline format this week. In celebration of the new format and of her new book, coming this summer, Bink is taking over Kate's profile picture! Watch for Bink's picture with all of Kate's posts, and stay tuned for more news about Bink and Gollie: Two for One!

This little monkey belonged to my mother when she was a kid. He is made of chin...

This little monkey belonged to my mother when she was a kid. He is made of china. His arms and legs are hinged and he can stand on his own. He is half the size of my thumb.
He is at least ninety years old, and so when I hold him in the palm of my hand, it is impossible for me to not to think about everything that he has seen and heard.
He knew my mother when she was a child. What secrets did she tell him?
This, for me, is always how a story starts, with some strange combination of ache ...

I get a lot of letters about Mercy Watson. And most of those letters have to do...

I get a lot of letters about Mercy Watson. And most of those letters have to do with ideas for further adventures for Mercy: Mercy Watson Goes to the Moon; Mercy Watson Drives A Garbage Truck (a particular favorite of mine); Mercy Watson Skips School, Mercy Watson Apologizes (also a favorite).
I love that kids want more Mercy, but the biggest thrill for me is how the pig prompts all these ideas.
I read the letters and the creativity and exuberance in them delight me; and I know that eve...

About four years ago, I was doing a book signing in San Francisco, and a girl ca...

About four years ago, I was doing a book signing in San Francisco, and a girl came through the line with this Despereaux sculpture. She had made him for an art project and she wanted to give him to me. I said that I couldn't possibly take him. He was too perfect. He would get broken in my luggage. She had made him, so she should keep him, etc. etc.
But the girl insisted; and so I took the mouse and I got him home safely and he has been on a shelf in my office ever since. I don't know h...

I took this picture of two chairs last week, and I've sent it to a lot of friend...

I took this picture of two chairs last week, and I've sent it to a lot of friends with the caption "Two Chairs Having an Argument." Which I thought was pretty funny. But then I started looking at the chairs, at how the one chair had turned its back on the other, at all that distance between them. I started thinking about how stuck the chairs were, how immovable, and the photograph became something lonely and kind of sad.
Maybe it's because I'm kind of an old chair myself, and I don't want ...

When I was a kid, the Cooper Memorial Library in Clermont, Florida was a little...

When I was a kid, the Cooper Memorial Library in Clermont, Florida was a little house filled with books. I knew and loved every square inch of it. I was always, always welcome there. Now, I am thousands of miles away from that building, but sometimes it appears in my dreams.
The dream is always the same: I am sitting in the library with my hands folded on a table. I am waiting for something or someone. As I wait, every room of the old house slowly fills with light. Something wonderful...